I'll Show You Mine, If.....

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Who was he?

“Are you hungry? I usually bring a lunch.”

She perked up. She hadn’t expected that. A boy who brought lunch?

She’d not thought she would be out this long, but she had been, and she was hungry. His open pack of sandwiches was there for the taking so she didn’t refuse. Boys didn’t usually think that far ahead.

His mother probably made it up. It looked too carefully and thoughtfully prepared for a boy to have done it, with their ‘hero’ sandwiches, and none of the finer touches she could see.

They shared, as she moved from rock to rock, well-heated in the sun, to dry her panties as he’d dried his sock the same way, trying not to look at her in too obvious a way as they ate.

Each time she moved, she left the outline of her panties and of her backside, on the rock. That alone, seemed to fascinate him. It was interesting to her, too, the way she seemed to have filled out… her hips.

He noticed everything she did; while trying not to be too obviously looking at her. He also seemed nervous, not sure what she would do next, or say to him.

Maybe he was waiting for her to strip off in front of him like some of the more careless girls might do, to get dry.

Good luck with that!

She glared at him, realizing that the thought had been only in her own head, though it was undoubtedly in his too.

The rocks dried out quickly once she stood up, and so did her panties. She wasn’t going to strip off in front of him, which she usually did (but cautiously) when she was alone, spreading her wet things out across the sun-baked rocks to dry; never moving far from them and always keeping her eyes open.

She took his towel and pushed it up under her vest to dry her breasts and her chest, holding the front of it down as she looked directly at him, stopping him from watching her, then turned to more fully face him, holding his towel out.

“Would you dry my back, please?”

He could be of some help to her.

He stood up, shocked, but gratified to be asked, and did what she had done under her vest as she turned her back to him, except he raised her vest totally at the back, even up to her neck for her to hold there over her shoulder with one hand, which she did. He saw the marks from her bra still showing on her skin where it had pulled, over-tight, and he dried her as she’d instructed.

She was careful not to let her vest pull all the way up at the front to uncover her breasts but, like a typical boy, he’d probably hoped.

He studied her back and down toward her panties, low on her hips where the towel seemed to have moved them, as well as the weight of the water that had been in them. She was shaped interestingly. She was so very different from him. She left him feeling breathless and light-headed as he carefully wiped all over her.

He covered her back with the open towel, pulling her damp vest down over it. He’d better not pull her panties up for her. They were sagging delightfully. Her vest would dry out on the towel.

She hadn’t expected him to be that considerate.

“Thank you.”

He was almost as tall as she was, maybe taller, as he was standing lower down on the beach from her.

He’d been wirily strong too. He’d held her still, at her shoulder with one hand, as he’d dried her hard with the other hand holding the towel.

She sat back down on the sand with him.

There was not an ounce of shyness or embarrassment in her now. She was fully in control of herself, and of him.

Her advantage of age did that for her where it never had before… as well as his shyness.

“Hi… I’m Barbara. Babs,” she began, not offering to shake hands, just looking at him.

He nodded, as though he knew.

“I’m Stephen. Steve.” At least he wasn’t tongue-tied.

He offered her another quarter sandwich from the small box.

She took another one as she looked him over. He didn’t seem so shy, now that he’d dressed and now that they’d started speaking properly again. He’d helped her at her request after she’d helped him with that scratch.

She was getting sand on her damp panties and inside them too, in another place, where it stuck to her dampness.

He was curious about that. He was curious about everything to do with her. He couldn’t hide that. Obviously, he didn’t know anything about girls, and he probably avoided them, as much as she avoided boys.

She might have to wade out before she left, and wash the sand out of her panties and crotch before she rode back home.

He had an interesting face, with heavy, jet-black, eyebrows. Her own were pale and whispy, like the beginning hair on her…hoo ha... down there.

Maybe that’s what he was looking at, hoping to see more of her behind her panties. She was covered. He was staring hard enough when he thought she wasn’t looking at him. She'd caught him looking enough times there, and at her breasts. She wouldn’t say anything… yet. However, she didn't find it so annoying. It was sometimes nice to be admired, and he, was admiring.

“Do you live in Cardon?” She hadn’t consciously seen him before.

“Yes. My dad does custom building, and renovations. He has the sawmill there”.

She knew the family. It was a small town.

He just became much safer.



She could tell him more about her now. “I live down there.” She pointed in another direction.

“The Moranis place. We used to have steers, now we mostly sell logs to your dad, I think, but we still have a few beef cattle.”

He nodded. “We buy logs from your dad, for lumber, and Log cabins.”

They ran out of conversation very soon after that as they focused on eating. It was a big lunch for one, but her brothers seemed able to eat about twice what she ate. She’d been hungry. So had he.

“Your mother makes up a good lunch, Stephen Gallagher.”

“I made it up. Mum’s too busy.”

He was more of a surprise and a conundrum, by the minute.

They ate. She was obviously enjoying it, not put off.

He admitted more. “I know it, your home. I’ve been there with dad, updating and upgrading a few things.

She hadn’t noticed him after school, though she’d seen the Gallagher truck in her driveway. Boys were not on her radar… except, this one was mildly interesting to her in some way, and he was well-spoken … more than usually met the eye… and not so very shy now.

She’d got over most of her shyness too.

“Yeah, the house is really old. My Great Grandfather built the core of it, starting with the big chimney.”

“I love that big central fireplace.” He seemed to know about that, too. He’d been in the house.

“My Great Grandfather used to roast venison and other meats, over that fire. There are all the old spits and things. Dad keeps adding to the house.”

She clambered to her feet.

“Thanks for sharing lunch. I should get back home. You say you come up here often?”

He nodded.“About this time nearly every day, if the weather’s good. There are six or seven good biking circuits, and they all seem to pass by here, so if it’s warm enough, I swim before I head back home. It’s all downhill from here.”

“Before you go... Steve.” At least she could use his name.

He looked up at her, waiting for her to say something.

“Why did you watch me so closely as I came out of the water?”

She'd caught him off guard with her aggressive question.

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. You couldn’t take your eyes off me.” She was hitting him hard.

He blushed to have been caught, and he almost stammered, taking a deep breath first and then answering her slowly.

“You moved so gracefully.”

She hadn’t expected that. He even continued.

“Everything about you is different. You are…so graceful (he repeated himself in his confusion), so delicate, easy to look at… (he shouldn't have admitted that), beautiful (nor that).”

She wasn’t delicate or graceful, and she hoped she was beautiful, but her mirror wouldn’t tell her, no matter how often she asked.

He'd been truthful!

“Well thank you for that, kind sir. I expect you tell all of your girlfriends that.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

She wasn’t that shocked. Older boys had girlfriends, not a boy like him.

“Have you never had a girlfriend?”

He shook his head. “I never bothered.”

It couldn't be that simple. She pinned him down.

“All boys want a girlfriend.”

“I don’t.” That, had been definite.

“Why not?”

He considered before he answered. “I’m…” he shrugged. “I’m different.”

The collodion had dried, so she packed everything away. He was still watching her. At least she’d got him talking. He was different alright… for a boy. He'd got her thinking

She paused and looked at him.

“How do you think you are different?” She wasn’t going to give up.

“I just am.” He wasn’t going to answer that question.

She tried again, going back to earlier.

“What is there about me that attracted you…?” She wanted to hear more. It can’t have been those earlier things he’d said, but he’d sounded sincere.

He took another deep breath and looked into her eyes and all over her face.

“Your face is beautifully symmetrical. It would be nice to draw."

He drew?

"You have flawless skin, long hair... that most girls would envy. You have nice eyebrows that you seem to take care of; honest eyes, and you are soft-spoken, and were gentle with me. Also, you are... svelte.” He hadn’t hesitated.

There was no come-back to any of that.

He’d noticed so much… for a boy, and more than a boy usually noticed. She wasn’t sure what that last word meant, and she asked.

“It means, Sylphlike. Lithesome… another way of saying, graceful.” He blushed.

Those were other words she had seen. How did he know those strange words. He must read a lot.

She would like to hear more, so she encouraged him.

“Is that all?”

Wasn’t that enough?

He blushed even more, loath to say anymore. He didn’t want to become more personal and speak of her body, her breasts (which would always interest him); her hips, her beautiful legs, her soft hands, or of anything else he’d noticed about her and committed to memory. It was already too personal. He shouldn't have told her any of that earlier stuff, either. He shouldn't ask if the sand that had got inside of her panties was uncomfortable. Lucky sand.

“You’re interesting too.” She blurted that out without thinking.

“I am? How?” He perked up. It was his turn to ask, but he continued speaking.

“I know I'm different, rather than interesting. I prefer bikes to other boys; and girls scare me.”

She laughed.

“Why?” He was very strange.

“They just scare me, is all.”

She accepted that. Most boys scared her too.

“You’re strange.”

He looked at her. “Others say that about me too.”

She watched as he raised his foot to put his dry sock on.

Boys didn’t have smooth gentle curves like girls did. They had awkward bits sticking out, and he seemed to have more... there, where she was looking... than there was on her brothers. He had dark hair on his legs too. She'd noticed that.

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